


Things Which Enclose Me

by remiges



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Situational Dubious Consent, Winner's Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 08:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14101902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remiges/pseuds/remiges
Summary: Malcolm stands outside the winner's room, palms sweating, so nervous he can feel his heart beating in his throat. It's just Flower, even if Flower is... a lot. He's talented, so talented, and vibrant and hilarious and gorgeous and hishands. Malcolm's been looking up to him forever, and it feels surreal to know that he's about to walk in and have sex with him.





	Things Which Enclose Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [VGK Monthly](https://vgkmonthly.tumblr.com/) March trope prompt: alpha/beta/omega dynamics
> 
> Title from [this](https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/somewhere-i-have-never-travelledgladly-beyond) e e cummings' poem.

Vegas' winner's room is opt-in, not like Boston. Not that Malcolm had ever been up to pick someone to go to the winner's room with, or that anyone had picked him when he was with the Bruins, but still. He could have avoided this possibility if he'd wanted to, he just... hadn't.

He stands outside the winner's room, palms sweating, so nervous he can feel his heart beating in his throat. It's just Flower, even if Flower is... a lot. He's talented, so talented, and vibrant and hilarious and gorgeous and his _hands_. Malcolm's been looking up to him forever, and it feels surreal to know that he's about to walk in and have sex with his teammate.

His alpha teammate.

Malcolm isn't a prude, doesn't believe in dynamics determining who you fuck, but he's heard that getting knotted can hurt a lot for betas. And he can take pain, but he doesn't necessarily like it when it's not related to hockey, and he's never done this before, and he's just... nervous. That, and he knows Murray is O, and he doesn't want to think about Flower comparing the two of them and finding Malcolm wanting. It's unproductive, and if he keeps dawdling outside the room then eventually Flower is going to come check on him and find him standing here like an idiot.

"Come on," Malcolm whispers to himself, wiping his palms on his sweats and shaking out his shoulders. "Come on." He takes a deep breath and pulls open the door.

"Hey," Flower says, looking up from his phone. He's sitting at the edge of the bed, his hair wet at the ends and his skin flushed, and Malcolm feels his mouth go dry. He wants Flower, is the thing, no matter that he doesn't want to get knotted. Otherwise, he'd never have opted in for this winner's room in the first place.

Malcolm crosses the room before he can think about it or psych himself out any more, and presses between Flower's legs. Flower lets him, no matter that Malcolm is pretty sure Flower is supposed to be leading this, and makes a surprised sound deep in his throat when Malcolm gets a hand around the back of his neck and kisses him.

"Just getting right into it?" Flower asks against Malcolm's mouth, his smile distorting the kiss, and Malcolm nudges closer because it's Flower. No matter what happens, it's Flower.

They make out like that for a while, Malcolm standing between Flower's legs, Flower arched up toward him. Half of Malcolm's attention is on the taste of Flower's mouth and the curve of his biceps and the way he links his ankles behind Malcolm's legs, but the other half is racing forward to what's going to happen next, anticipation and dread sitting heavy in his stomach. When Flower runs a hand under Malcolm's shirt, he shivers.

"Is this okay?" Flower asks, kissing the line of his jaw, and Malcolm says, "Yes, more," which isn't a lie, really, but there's definitely some sort of disconnect between his brain and his body. A disconnect that comes to light when Flower reaches down to cup him through his pants and finds he's completely soft.

Malcolm squeezes his eyes shut, like not seeing Flower's reaction means not having to deal with it. He goes in for another kiss, but Flower's gone still, and Malcolm knows the jig is up. When Flower pulls away, Malcolm isn't surprised.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asks, and Malcolm thinks about telling him that he takes a while to get warmed up, or that he just doesn't find Flower that attractive, but he's never been good at lying.

"I'm fine," he tells him anyway, because stopping and then having to start again sounds like hell, but Flower looks like he sees right through him.

"Come on, let's talk," he says, patting the space next to him on the bed and angling his body away, like Malcolm might want nothing to do with his erection. Malcolm doesn't know how to tell him that's not the case and have Flower believe him, especially since it's one specific part of Flower's dick that's the problem, so he sits.

"I'm fucking this up," he tells the floor. "Sorry, you should have picked someone else. I know this isn't what you wanted."

"Don't apologize. This is supposed to be... whatever you need it to," Flower says. "Line bonding, sex, friendship." He shrugs. "It's supposed to be fun. It's okay if you don't want to. We could just go get something to eat instead, I've done that before."

With his old team, Malcolm thinks. With people he's known forever, friends and regular companions, not the very first time he's up for the winner's room with his new team. Not with someone who _opted in_ to this and now can't even get it up.

"Sorry," Malcolm says again, looking over at the mural someone's done on the wall. It's all gold and black, the view from what he thinks it supposed to a castle turret. There are shelves below the mural, full of sex toys in sterile wrappers, massage oil, board games. Staring at the neat rows of supplies, he feels out of place, too much in Flower's space, too clumsy.

Flower shifts on the bed, and Malcolm straightens out his shirt from where Flower had rucked it up, runs a hand across his face.

"I'm just nervous," he confesses. "I've never done this before. The winner's room thing," he adds before Flower can read that wrong and start thinking he's a virgin. "Or the knot thing," he adds as an afterthought. It'd probably be useful to know that.

He can see Flower's eyebrows go up even in his peripheral vision. "Most O's don't even like getting knotted outside of heat. Did you think... did you think that's what I wanted?"

Put like that, it does sound pretty stupid.

They sit in silence for a minute, Malcolm looking at the mountain range in the mural and wishing he could just disappear. Finally, Flower asks, "Hey, is it okay if I touch you?" like Malcolm would say no to something like that, no matter how embarrassing the current circumstances. He rolls his eyes and beckons him closer.

Flower shift across the cream sheets and draws his legs in, rubs Malcolm's shoulder for a minute before settling his hand on the back of his neck. His touch isn't heavy, but it's grounding. Malcolm lets out a breath, pulls in another one that shakes just a little at the end.

"I don't knot people unless they ask for it," Flower says quietly, thumb sweeping distracting circles against his skin. "And even then, I have to be in the right mood for it. I was going to see if you would let me blow you," and Malcolm blinks because that... hadn't been how he'd thought this worked, at least in the NHL. "Or if you were any good at chess," Flower continues, like he hasn't just crumpled up all of Malcolm's half-formed ideas about how the winner's room kept and broke hierarchies.

"I'm not great," Malcolm says after clearing his throat. He knows how all the pieces move, and he can think a couple of moves ahead, but long-term strategy isn't his strong suit.

"That's what I was hoping for," Flower tells him. "I used to play Sid, and he could name all these openings and things, except I was terrible. It drove him insane."

"So you just want someone you have a chance of beating?" Malcolm asks, settling a little bit closer.

Flower smirks, but he doesn't take the bait. "You know, almost all the teams used to be opt-out," he tells him, getting serious again, and Malcolm nods. They'd had a couple of slides on the 'intra-team relations' powerpoint about how no one would be punished for electing not to opt-in for the winner's room, even if they didn't go all season. It all went back to how things used to be for players who didn't participate: less ice time, getting labeled as a problem player, team unrest. 

"It was my first time," Flower continues, "and I got as far as taking my pants off before I safeworded." He smiles, but it's not easy, not something Malcolm wants to see again. "It was so embarrassing, and then I turned around and did the same thing the next time. A little further along, but still." He shakes his head. "Anyway, it's not like I don't get it. It's not a big deal."

Malcolm doesn't want to ask what changed, if anything did. If Flower finally felt comfortable enough to go through with it, or if he'd just wanted whatever locker room chirping to stop and hadn't opted-out when he should have.

"I'm sorry," he says, touching Flower's ribs briefly before letting his hand drop to Flower's hip, offering whatever comfort he can for an event a decade gone.

"If you've never been in a winner's room before, I can tell some stories," Flower says instead of responding. "Like, the Joe? The visitor's one was all mirrors, I swear to you."

He goes on, one hand animated while the other stays anchored at the back of Malcolm's neck, but Malcolm's only paying minimal attention. He's still a little embarrassed, but it's all in the background. Flower's knee is resting against Malcolm's thigh, and the warmth bleeding through his sweats is a heady distraction. Flower's eyes sparkle, and Malcolm feels something in him relax that he hadn't realized had been clenched tight.

"Can I kiss you?" he interrupts, because Flower is probably never picking him for the winner's room again, but at least Malcolm can have this.

"Yeah," Flower say, glancing over at him. "Of course." His eyelashes are surprisingly long from this close, and his cheekbones are just as perfect under Malcolm's fingers as he'd thought they would be. This time when Malcolm kisses him, he puts in all of the heat but none of the rush of their first kiss. He lets Flower's tongue in, shifts closer to him, and it's a bit awkward and imperfect and wonderful all at once.

Malcolm doesn't think his dick is going to be participating in anything right now, but he wishes it could. When Flower finally pulls away and rests his forehead against his, Malcolm crosses his eyes to try and keep Flower in focus before letting it all blur out. He feels suddenly exhausted, all the emotions of the day and the game crashing down on him at once.

"Do you think I'd get chirped forever if I just slept here and got up for practice in the morning?" he asks.

Flower huffs out a silent laugh. " _I'd_ chirp you forever," he says. "Do you need me to drive you home so you don't crash?" 

And maybe it's not an actual offer, but it sounds like one. Malcolm doesn't know where this is going—a simple drop-off, or maybe a drink at home, or maybe Flower in his bed later—but he wants to find out.

"Yeah, I think I do," Malcolm says, and feels a curl of anticipation for the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler alert: The future is super great and involves lots of kisses and slightly burnt breakfast in bed.
> 
> Come hang out with me on [tumblr!](https://enter-remiges.tumblr.com/)


End file.
